


Excuses, Excuses

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_holidays, First Time, Humour, M/M, Muggle Worthy Excuses, Sex in the Open Air, Unusual Professions, auror!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Harry Potter's dismay, his boss seems to think that he's the only one equipped to handle Draco Malfoy and the weird things that follow in his wake. Unfortunately for Harry, dealing with his own reactions to Draco is another matter entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuses, Excuses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teya_yashitoda](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=teya_yashitoda).



> Written for teya_yashitoda in HD Holidays 2010. Many thanks to my betas, eeyore9990, sevfan, and angela_snape, and to ro grayjoy who kept encouraging me and helping me when I got stuck despite not having read all of the story.

**1\. His Kingdom for a Gun**

"Malfoy! My office! Now!"

Head Auror Robards' face was red, the veins on his nose and cheeks were standing out, and he'd clearly been chewing on the tips of his moustache. _Here we go again_ , Draco thought.

Because he liked Robards, he didn't dawdle too much as he placed his quill back in its stand, capped his ink pot, and placed his half-written report neatly in the correct tray. He didn't pause to straighten any of the piles of parchment, but he did spare a brief glance for the empty chair at the desk opposite his before sauntering over to listen to what he was sure was yet another lecture on Auror etiquette.

A Silencing Charm activated as soon as Robards flicked the door closed behind Draco. "Sit down," Robards ordered.

Taking a seat — the comfortable one, not the one Robards indicated — Draco rested his left ankle on his right knee. A brief check reassured him that the shine on his boots had not been dulled by his chase across Muggle London in pursuit of the wizards who'd been using Summoning Charms to pick the pockets of Muggle tourists.

"Damn it, Malfoy, would you listen to me for once?"

"I assume you called me in here to tell me that Creepy Creevey's done a bunk."

"A bunk?" Robards' nostrils flared. "Bloody twerp tried to threaten me. Says he'll go to the Hit Wizards if I don't agree to assign him a new partner. And it's only September. I hadn't planned on needing to find you a new partner for at least a couple of weeks."

"What simpleminded idiot gave Creevey the idea that someone else would take him?"

"Quite possibly the fact that the last two Aurors assigned to be your partner did exactly that." Robards growled something Draco didn't quite catch, then said, "If you didn't close more cases than any other Auror we've got, I'd let Dawlish toss you out on your arse."

"Creevey fired, then?" Keeping his hands beneath the level of the desk so Robards couldn't see what he was doing, Draco slid his wand out and ran the tip across his nails, filing them down.

"Someone you trained? Not bloody likely." Robards grimaced. "Proudfoot's offered to take him on. As soon as Creevey's back from Mungo's, of course."

"Proudfoot, but he's with—" Draco bit back a curse when he dragged his wand sideways and took off a chunk of his thumbnail. "No!"

"Oh yes."

Jumping to his feet, Draco braced his hands on Robards' desk and leaned forwards. "I don't want a partner. I don't need a partner. And I certainly don't need—"

A nasty smile twitched at the corners of Robards' lips. "What you want is irrelevant. Regulations require that all Aurors have partners."

"Moody didn't."

"And look what happened to him." Robards leaned back in his chair. "That what you want, Malfoy? To end up like Moody? With chunks missing from your face, a wooden stump for a leg, scaring off small children and lovely women?"

Draco couldn't hide his shudder or stop his face from screwing up in disgust. "Merlin, Robards, I was just about to go get my tea."

A knock on the door interrupted them. When Robards bid whomever it was to enter, the sick feeling in Draco's stomach increased as he straightened up and turned around.

Ginny Weasley grinned at him from the open door. "Hullo, Malfoy. Long time, no partner."

If he'd had a Muggle gun, Draco might have considered shooting himself.

~*~

On level three, in an office that was far smaller than Robards', Harry Potter signed his name to the last parchment in his in-tray and dropped it into his out-tray. As soon as it vanished, going off to the Records Department to be filed away, he stretched and yawned then got to his feet and began packing up for the day. He made it as far as the door of his office.

Penelope Clearwater, Head of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, stood on the other side. She had a slim red folder in one hand. The other was about to knock on his door.

Taking one look at the almost illegible name scrawled on the outside of the folder, Harry's heart sank into his trainers. "Not just no," he said, shutting his office door and pushing past her, "but hell no."

"Harry!"

"You promised after the last one, Penny. Said I wouldn't have to clean up after him again."

"How do you know—"

He just looked at her.

And she looked back at him. "Percy and I are having dinner with his parents tonight."

"Low blow, Penny." Harry mimed being kicked in the stomach before grinning at her. "But, as it happens, I've got plans too. Try Demelza. She's got the late shift this week."

A hint of pleading entered Penny's voice as she said, "The last time Demelza tried to clean up after Malfoy, she blamed the missing chunk of fence around Buckingham Palace on an infestation of gophers. Gophers, Harry! They're not even native to England."

"Sophie Fawcett's new, but she's got a great imagination," Harry offered and went to move past her. "Her latest excuse was a bit of brilliance."

An odd noise escaped from Penny, stopping him in his tracks.

Harry tried. He really did. But then she made that noise again and he had to ask, "What?"

"She—" Penny snickered, and then tried again. "Sophie sugg—" This time she dissolved into giggles and thrust the folder at him.

A pale blue note was clipped to the inside. A rift opened up near Covent Garden, bringing the hedges to life and causing them to trap unwary pedestrians.

"Aliens did it?" Harry snorted with laughter. "Someone needs to confiscate her Torchwood DVDs."

"You think?"

Harry glanced back down at the folder in his hands and sighed. "I'm not the only one who works here, you know."

"I know," Penny said sympathetically. "But you seem to be the only one who can deal with the weird things that follow in Malfoy's wake."

"I had plans."

"A beer and takeaway curry in front of the telly?"

"Not quite." Harry scowled at her.

"Well, your birthday's not for a couple of weeks, so I predict—" She flung her hand towards her forehead, as if she were Trelawney, and intoned, "Potter, eating fish and chips, in the living room with a telly."

Making a face at her, he muttered, "I have a life." At her look of disbelief, he protested, "I do."

"Of course, you do." She patted him on the shoulder and was about to say something else when the lift doors opened behind him. The noise made him turn around.

A team of Obliviators walked out of the lift and headed past Harry and Penny for their offices. One was limping. They were all shedding bits of sticker vine and leaves, wearing torn robes, and cursing Draco Malfoy and his non-existent descendants.

"Bugger," Harry muttered.

"Finch-Fletchley is waiting for you at Downing Street," Penny said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll give your regards to Molly and Arthur."

Harry sighed and headed for the lifts. There were worse things than being stuck dealing with Draco Malfoy, he knew, but those things usually didn't give him inconvenient erections or have hair that made his fingers tingle with the urge to touch.

Not that Malfoy noticed what he was doing to Harry. Bloody oblivious bastard that he was.

~*~

**2\. They Fly Horses, Don't They?**

"If I'd known working with you would be this much fun," Ginny said, smiling at Draco as she waved her wand at the three bound and gagged wizards, "I'd have volunteered months ago."

"You have a very strange idea of fun." Draco shrugged to ensure his Muggle suit jacket sat correctly across his shoulders and then tugged on his shirtsleeves until the requisite amount of cuff and cufflink was exposed. His clothing wasn't really thick enough for the damp October weather, but a discrete Warming Charm and an _Impervius_ took care of that quite handily.

Ginny managed to stay quiet for a minute or two before asking, "Any reason why you're hanging around here instead of taking them in for questioning?"

"Hmmm?" Draco cast a Grooming Charm and smiled as he felt his hair move back into place.

"Oi, Malfoy!" The exasperation in Ginny's voice made him look at her. "Someone's got to get this lot back to headquarters."

"Well, off with you, then."

"Me?"

"Unless you see another random Auror hanging around?" Draco peered exaggeratedly around them, sneering at the lace curtains that twitched in the windows of the Muggle hovels on either side of the street.

"But I thought you—" She examined him from top to bottom, and her smile widened. "Oh, Mum will be pleased."

A chill trickled down Draco's spine. "Your mother? What's she got to do with this?"

"Nothing." Ginny patted him on the shoulder. "Absolutely nothing at all."

"Weasley," Draco threatened, baring his teeth at her as he brushed at the fabric of his jacket and ran a finger down the Slytherin cloak pin that he was using as a tiepin. "What have I said about ginger germs?"

She blew him a kiss. "Love you, too, Malfoy."

Before he could respond, a team of Obliviators stepped out of the shadows that filled a narrow side street. Draco looked beyond them and something like relief shivered through him when he saw Harry Potter following them. Unlike the Obliviators, who were dressed like Muggle policemen, Potter wore jeans — well-fitting jeans — and a black jumper that stretched nicely across his shoulders.

There ought to be a law against someone else looking that good, Draco decided. He straightened up to his full height and prepared to greet Potter, directing his best scowl at Weasley when she came to stand next to him.

"That'll be my signal to leave," she said, pulling out the squishy ball they'd been given to use as a Portkey back to headquarters. She tossed it up in the air and caught it. "Don't hurt him too much."

Draco upped the wattage on his scowl, but she simply grinned back at him. Then, to Draco's intense frustration, she went up to Potter and hugged him. As if they were at a social occasion, rather than in the midst of arresting a gang of teenage wizards who'd been attacking Muggle pensioners. Draco sniffed. It shouldn't have surprised him really. She was a Weasley, after all.

"What have you got for us this time, Malfoy?" Arnold Peasegood twirled a truncheon in one hand. His team of Obliviators were huddled behind him, muttering at each other. "No killer plants, I hope. I lost two good men to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts that day."

"Oh, nothing that interesting." Draco gestured at the house across the street and smirked as the Muggle gave her curtains a violent jerk. "Merely a few Muggles with more curiosity than sense."

"And what are they not supposed to have seen?" Potter forestalled whatever Peasegood had been about to say.

Despite his best efforts to maintain his composure, Draco could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks at being subjected to Potter's intense gaze. Daring him. Challenging him. And Draco refused to be the one who blinked first. Especially when Potter didn't have the decency to show any appreciation for Draco's attire.

Peasegood cleared his throat, but neither Draco nor Potter paid him any attention.

After a minute or ten, Draco shifted positions, moving his weight onto his left leg. Potter, on the other hand, simply stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and didn't blink. Damn him.

The noise of a Portkey activating finally broke their standoff. Draco flinched and glanced over. Weasley gave him a wave as she was whirled away with the teenagers.

"Stupid bint," Peasegood snarled. "In front of the Muggles and everything."

"Hey," Potter said. "Watch who you're talking about."

"It's not as if you won't Obliviate them of that memory as well," Draco sneered, glad of someone to take his frustration at Potter out on. "Can't have them remembering us all standing in the middle of the street, can you?"

"That's hardly the point." Peasegood ran his fingers through the few strands of hair he had combed over his balding pate. "There are regulations to be observed."

"Are you about to claim that your team have never broken a single regulation about magic in the Muggle world?"

There were layers of meaning buried in Potter's seemingly innocuous question, but Peasegood apparently didn't care anything for Draco's curiosity.

"Right, then," Peasegood said. "We'll Obliviate them of the whole lot. As soon as we know what memory to look for." He turned to Draco. "A few clues would be useful."

Once more under Potter's scrutiny, Draco reached up to fiddle with his tiepin and had to suppress a smirk when Potter's gaze followed his fingers. "Weasley and I caught a trace of their magic about three streets over. Sign outside said it was Honeysuckle Cottage." Draco curled his lip. "It didn't bear even the slightest resemblance to a cottage, and there wasn't a hint of honeysuckle anywhere in sight, but that's Muggles for you."

"Honeysuckle Cottage, right." Scribbling on his notepad, Peasegood gestured at a pair of Obliviators.

"As soon as we arrived on scene, the gormless twits took off on their brooms right in front of the old age pensioner whose dog they'd been Transfiguring."

"Dog and brooms, right." Peasegood nodded and jotted another note.

"And what did you do?" Potter glared at Draco. "I'm assuming that you didn't follow regulations and cast Disillusionment Spells on them?"

"Weasley and I were going to, but the old... lady was having hysterics. Weasley sent a Stunner at her. Purely to stop her from hurting herself, I assure you, and I—" Draco cleared his throat as he searched for the least incriminating words "—had no choice but to pursue the criminals."

Potter hissed a long, sibilant phrase that made Draco hope against hope that the jacket of his Muggle suit was long enough to hide his hardening cock.

A squeak came from Peasegood's direction. Draco whipped his head around to glare at him for interrupting Potter and was pleased to note that the idiot appeared somewhat white around the edges.

"How did you take off after them?" Potter asked, drawing Draco's attention back to him.

"In the air, of course," Draco said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I could hardly chase them on foot, could I?"

"Of course not." Potter took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "You transformed, didn't you?"

"Flying horse, it is, then." Peasegood sounded very pleased. He turned to his remaining Obliviators. "Malfoy memory replacement number twenty-two, lads, with a twist for teenage boys on broomsticks. Anything else?"

"Well," Draco shuffled his feet, feeling embarrassed for the first time, "I might have miscalculated my landing."

"Miscalculated?" Potter snapped, looking as if he was about to erupt. "What in Merlin's name did you do this time?"

"I... erm... might have bounced. Just a little bit."

"Bounced?"

"There were cars, you see, and my hooves, well, you know what happens when they strike metal." Draco pointed behind him to the smouldering wrecks at the side of the road. "Predictable, really, if you know the least bit about Granians."

"Oh you..." Shaking his head, Potter trailed off and, for an instant, Draco couldn't decide if Potter was going to burst a blood vessel or burst into laughter. Not that he cared too much, when Potter still hadn't put his glasses back. The man ought to invest in a decent Eyesight Potion. Honestly, there ought to be a law against—

"Easy peasy." Peasegood closed his notebook with a snap, dragging Potter's attention away from Draco, _damn him_ , and gave them the kind of smug look that sent horrified shudders through Draco. When they didn't say anything, he laughed and said, "Peasy. Peasegood. Get it?"

Draco clenched his jaw to prevent it from dropping open, and Potter let loose another string of hisses that had Peasegood backing off.

"I'll be off, then. People to see. Memories to Obliviate." Peasegood bobbed his head at them and headed across the street, chuckling when the Muggle twitched her curtains so hard she pulled them down.

As soon as Peasegood was out of hearing range, Potter rounded on Draco. "What were you thinking? Transforming into a bloody Granian in a Muggle neighbourhood? Muggles don't have flying horses."

Draco lifted his chin and stared down his nose at Potter, revelling in the way his green eyes glittered with anger and concern. "That's their loss, isn't it?"

"You know how to cast a Disillusionment Charm. I've seen you do it." Potter shoved his glasses back on and tugged at his hair. "For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, are you trying to get yourself fired?"

"Oh please." Draco smirked and resisted the urge to buff his nails. "They're not going to fire me, and you know it."

"Then what? Care to explain it to me? Because I'd really like to know the reason why I spend so much time cleaning up after you."

Myriad reasons passed through Draco's mind. Not a single one that he could share with Potter, however. Instead, he reached out and smoothed down the front of Potter's rumpled jumper. "Just doing my bit to keep the criminals of the Wizarding world where they belong."

Potter was still swearing in Parseltongue when Draco Apparated to the Ministry.

~*~

**3\. Arse is a Four Letter Word**

The Ministry cafeteria was crowded by the time Harry made it through the line and into the main room. He wound between the tables, looking for Hermione and Ron, whom he was meeting for lunch, and cursing them for not wanting to meet him in Diagon Alley or Muggle London or anywhere but the Ministry. Just because Hermione had a book deadline looming and Ron spent his days at the shop was no reason to—

"Keep it down, will you. Potter's right over there."

Harry clenched his jaw and did his best not to glance around to see who'd whispered his name, even as he slid between two chairs and headed in the direction of the voice. Always safer to know what they're saying about you, he told himself.

After passing several more tables, Harry was about to give up and start looking for Hermione and Ron again, when he spotted them. Three witches and two wizards who Harry vaguely recognised as being from International Magical Cooperation were squeezed around one of the smaller tables. Their heads were together, and occasionally one of them would glance around, perhaps looking for him, and start whispering again.

He took up a position on the other side of a pillar from their table and hooked an Invisibly Extendable Earpiece to his ear.

"I heard it was a child. Spelling out things in Morris Coda for all the Muggles to see."

"Accidental magic, that's what's on the official report. By a Muggle-born."

"Oh come on. Do you really think a _kid_ made the Blackpool Illuminations blink 'Harry Potter's got a fine arse'?"

"On Bonfire Night, no less."

"How would one of them know about Potter, I ask you?"

Groaning, Harry folded his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them. Why had he thought Dawlish would be able to keep that one quiet? He considered pulling out the Earpiece, but he couldn't stop listening.

"—a conspiracy."

"Definitely a cover-up at the highest levels."

"Protecting Potter."

"You think he's still doing it with Shacklebolt?"

"Is there any doubt?"

"You know the Minister would bend over for Potter any day of the week."

"Merlin, that's hot."

"Almost as hot as Potter's arse."

His face crimson with embarrassment, Harry ripped out the Earpiece and started to get up. Before he could say anything, another voice joined the conversation. And Malfoy didn't even try to keep his voice down.

"Gossiping about your betters again, are you, Jewkes? I thought you'd learned that lesson the last time."

Harry peeked around the pillar, trying to keep himself hidden. Malfoy was standing over the table, a hand on one hip, his dark grey robes flaring open at the waist.

"You're one to talk, Malfoy," said one of the witches. "Sticking your nose into other people's conversations."

"Yeah," jeered the wizard whom Malfoy had called Jewkes.

"Bloody Death Eater," came from another.

Embarrassment turning to anger, Harry was reaching for his wand and starting around the pillar, when Malfoy drawled, "Oh, don't be jealous, darling. Just because some of us had better taste than to spend the war hiding in a coal cellar."

They all gasped in outrage, and a snigger escaped Harry before he could stop it. When their heads swivelled to look at him, he leant against the pillar and twirled his wand. "Slumming, Malfoy?"

"It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it." Malfoy shrugged, a half-smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. "What brings you down here amongst the riff raff?"

"Looking for some friends," Harry said.

One of the witches blurted out, "Mr Potter, I'd just like to—"

Malfoy cut across her words smoothly. "You're clearly in the wrong place for that, Potter."

Twirling his wand one last time before holstering it, Harry gave him a nod. "You might just be right." He paused for a moment to consider the expressions on their audience's faces. Then, doing his best to grin, he walked around the table towards Malfoy. "Although I did find you, so all hope is not lost. Shall we?"

Malfoy gave him a small bow and a smirk that far exceeded anything Harry could ever manage. "As you wish, Potter."

They'd only taken a few steps away when the whispering started up again. Before Malfoy could say anything, Harry put a hand on his arm to quiet him, his fingers clenching briefly as he felt the tense muscles beneath the fine wool of Malfoy's robes, before he turned around and called out, "Oh, and just for the record. I have it on good authority that I don't just have a fine arse, I have a magnificent one."

With Malfoy's low chuckle sending prickles of arousal skittering over his skin, Harry tugged at Malfoy's arm and gave him no choice except to join him in the search for Hermione and Ron's table.

~*~

"I don't know what the hell I was thinking," Draco groaned, flinging himself into the chair across from Pansy with as much drama as he could manage.

"You heard the words 'fine arse' and 'Harry Potter' and were drawn to them like a Niffler to gold," Pansy said without the least bit of sympathy. "What else is new?"

Draco scowled at her, but she simply beamed back at him and continued picking at her watercress salad.

 _He touched me,_ Draco just managed not to say. Even he recognised how pathetic that would make him seem. But it was no less true. He didn't think Potter even realised that he'd grabbed him right over the discoloured patch of skin that was all that remained of his Dark Mark.

To distract himself, Draco frowned at the day's menu on the table in front of him. One of these days, he really should get the house-elves to pack him a decent lunch. Was a little Diricawl liver pâté with fig chutney and a selection of cheeses too much to ask? With a sigh of resignation, he tapped his usual choice with his wand. The menu rolled itself up, disappeared in a puff of smoke, and was replaced by a plate with a prawn and low-fat mayonnaise sandwich on wholemeal bread. Curling his lip, he lifted the top slice of bread and made sure that the Ministry elves hadn't been stingy with the prawns again.

A stream of tea pouring itself from the teapot into his cup took his attention away from the barely edible sandwich. After the pot had settled back on the table, he flicked his wand and a sliver of lemon and a cube of sugar floated over and dunked themselves into his tea.

"How's the Weaselette?" Pansy settled back, angling her legs to the side and crossing one over the other. "She's been your partner for nearly two months, hasn't she? I believe that's getting close to a new record for you."

"I'm not that bad."

"Oh please. How long have you been an Auror, and how many partners have you had?"

"You're assuming I care enough to keep count."

"You seem to care about the Weaselette."

"Ginny's a passable Auror."

"High praise indeed, coming from you." Pansy put aside her plate and leaned forwards with definite interest sparking in her eyes. " _Ginny_ seems much more... mature than she did when we were in school."

"Mature?"

Pansy outlined a female silhouette with her hands and made an appreciative noise. "Mmhmm... mature."

"Leave my partner alone. With my luck, I'll end up with a Hufflepuff if you frighten her off." Draco took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, trying to decide whether to swallow it or spit it out.

"A fate worse than death, I'm sure," Pansy agreed equably, "and certainly far from what you'd dreamt of when you entered Auror training."

"We don't talk about that," said Draco, glancing at a table just out of earshot and making sure that Potter was still over there eating lunch with the rest of the Golden Trio. "Not ever and definitely not here."

"Of course." She reached over and patted his free hand. "Although it must be a comfort to know that you're not reduced to a Scarhead-free existence."

Turning his hand over, Draco squeezed hers tightly, taking no pleasure in the sensation of her bones moving in his grip. "Enough. Unless you want me to shut you up again."

"Oh, darling, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" Pansy smiled at him, giving no indication of whether he was hurting her. "Still trying to get his attention while we mere mortals are left to fight over the scraps that remain of yours."

Rolling his eyes, Draco ignored her blatant attempt to extract a compliment from him, released her hand, and picked up his sandwich again. He was about halfway through his meal and had turned the conversation around to a discussion of the successes, failures, and upcoming marriages of the Slytherins in their year when they were interrupted by Ginny rapping her knuckles on their table.

"I'm eating, Weasley," Draco said. "Do be polite and return in fourteen minutes when my break is over."

"Not going to happen, Malfoy. We've got a case." She reached over to pick up his cup and made a face at it. "Ugh. Why don't you put milk in your tea like a normal wizard?"

"So people like you won't steal it, of course." Retrieving his tea from her, he drank the rest of it. Then he gave Pansy an apologetic look. "Same time next week?"

"Already on my calendar." She smiled at him before turning to Ginny. "Watch over him, Weasley, or you'll be helping me to look after him when he's injured."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Ginny grinned at her.

"I like this one, Draco." Pansy rose to her feet and went over to kiss Draco on the cheek. She murmured, "Enjoy yourself. It looks as if your favourite Saviour is going along for the ride."

Forcing his expression to remain blank and not show his surprise or pleasure, Draco looked beyond Ginny to see Potter saying goodbye to Granger and Weasley. His heart jumped when Potter started moving quickly towards them, but he wrapped himself in professionalism.

Draco fell into step beside Ginny, who was already heading for the lifts, and asked, "What's so urgent that it can't wait until after lunch?"

"Muggle thieves broke into the Greengrass's room at Brown's and made off with Cliantha's jewellery, including a set that originally belonged to Godelet's wife."

"Salazar," Draco hissed. "Standards must be slipping at Brown's. Muggles wandering unescorted around the Wizarding townhouse? What will it come to next?"

"Perhaps they'll start renting rooms to Muggle-borns or Weasleys," Ginny said, stepping into a lift.

"Oh please. Brown's has been allowing Muggle-borns into the Wizarding townhouse since Lelia Fancourt married one of Gladstone's sons." Commandeering his usual spot in a back corner where no one could stand behind him, Draco bared his teeth at the ancient wizard huddled by the lift controls.

"Be nice, Draco," Weasley chided him.

"I don't do nice."

"That explains why you need excuses before you've even left the Ministry," said Potter, slipping between the doors as they were closing. "I think that's a record, even for you."

"If you're expecting me to apologise for being good, you'll wait a very long time." Draco suppressed the urge to smirk when Potter turned to face the doors and reassure the old wizard.

He didn't just appreciate that Potter trusted him enough to turn his back on him, Draco decided. He absolutely appreciated that fact that it gave him a perfect view of Potter's truly magnificent arse.

~*~

**4\. The Parting of the Thames**

"The apocalypse is nigh," yelled a Muggle man dressed in a long, white dress and promenading along Canary Wharf. "Heed the signs, all ye sinners, for He will inflict His horsemen upon you."

"We should be so lucky," muttered Harry, ducking to avoid being hit in the head by the unintelligible sign the Muggle was wielding like a Bludger. "Especially if it helps me forget what kind of shite hides underneath all this water." He shuddered at the memory and reconsidered asking Peasegood for a well-focussed _Obliviate_.

"A simple _Silencio_ on the bugger, is that too much to ask? Some of us are performing work that requires concentration." Malfoy whacked Harry's knee with the business end of his wand.

Spitting out a curse, Harry kicked Malfoy in retaliation without looking down at him. Malfoy was crouching over the Magic Dampener in which they'd caged the twisted ivory staff that had caused all of the problems.

"Bloody hell, Potter. I thought you didn't want to see the bottom of the Thames again? Are you trying to get _me_ to drop this thing in the water next?"

"Knee-jerk reaction." Harry grinned at him.

Malfoy sniffed and bent down, focussing a stream of dark blue magic at the centre of the Magic Dampener. The curve of his back and the way his dark jeans clung to his arse made Harry forget the sarcastic response that he'd been about to make. Merlin, did the man not own any clothes that made him look scruffy?

Or maybe it was the sight of Ginny strolling up to them with that damned knowing smirk on her face that made him forget.

"St John just left with Rajgopal. They're sending someone from Mysteries out to pick up the—" she gestured at the twisted ivory staff "—cursed object."

"The Unspeakables are going to love this one. I don't recognise the magic in this staff, but it's neither cursed nor dark. Definitely powerful, though," Malfoy said, resting back on his heels and stretching. His back popped, and his expression became beatific.

Biting his lip, Harry went back to leaning over the stone balustrade and poking a stick he'd magically extended into the area where the Thames had parted. There was something vaguely familiar about the odd way the water moved around the stick, swirling around it and tugging it downwards, rather than in the same direction the river was running.

"Burn all the witches. Save yourselves."

Before Harry could turn around, Ginny growled, " _Incendio_ ," and the maniac's sign went up in flames.

The Muggle, predictably, waved his sign around, batted it on the balustrade in an attempt to put it out, and screamed out promises of oncoming doom that made Trelawney's predictions for Harry seem optimistic. And the reporters and their cameras zoomed in on him, chattering excitedly into their microphones and attempting to make sense of his ramblings.

"Bloody hell, Ginny. Could you make my job any more difficult?" Harry rubbed at his scar.

"You could deal with this damned thing." Malfoy tapped his wand on the corner of the Magic Dampener, sending black and gold sparks into the air. "And I could go over there and dredge up a couple of Muggle-worthy lies for the credulous fools."

"And drop us in the middle of another war?" Ginny snorted with laughter. "I don't think so."

"Just stop poking the water," Malfoy snapped at Harry, "and do something before the charms wear off and the Muggle reporters notice what we're doing over here."

"Not going to happen." Moving the stick to his left hand, Harry pulled out his wand with his right and, with a nonchalant swish, reinforced the Disillusionment and Muggle-Repelling Charms that protected them. To ram his point home a little harder, he curved his lips into a self-satisfied smile and made sure to look into Malfoy's eyes as he did it.

Whatever sarcasm Malfoy had been about to fling out in response was lost in the sudden wrench on the stick that pulled Harry off-balance and dragged him halfway over the balustrade. Only Malfoy's tight grip on his ankle stopped him from going right over and into the water.

Curious to know what in the Thames could possibly be that interested in a bit of wood, Harry put his wand between his teeth, tucked his knees beneath the thick stone that formed the top of the balustrade to give himself leverage, and hauled it up. To his horror, a pale and bony hand and arm came up out of the water with the stick.

Nauseated by memories of what those hands felt like as they clutched at him, he croaked out, "Inferius. It's got my stick, and it won't let go." And then he was dragged a few inches closer to the water.

"Fucking hell, Potter, only you could find an Inferius in the middle of Muggle London with your _stick_." Malfoy grasped Harry's other ankle and hauled on them.

"Not my fault," said Harry. As first the Inferius and then Malfoy pulled on him, he was rocked backwards and forwards. His knees and stomach felt as if they were being scraped raw by the rough stone. The tension and effort required to stop himself from falling over had him gritting his teeth so hard, he could feel them digging into his wand.

He considered letting go. He knew he probably should, but he couldn't let an Inferius win. Not even something as stupid as a stick. He just couldn't. A sharp tug interrupted Harry's thoughts, and he yelled, the words muffled by his wand, "Harder, Malfoy."

"I'll give you harder," Malfoy muttered, and Harry almost lost his jumper to the vicious yank Malfoy gave to his ankles.

"Again," Harry entreated him, as the Inferius countered with a series of short jerks.

"Merlin, what a pair of idiots you are," Ginny said, leaning over the balustrade next to Harry and aiming her wand at the base of Harry's stick. " _Confringo_ ," she called out, before he could tell her not to, and the Inferius was blasted away in a swamping wave of water and a shower of wood fragments.

At the same time, Malfoy pulled on Harry's ankles, and they both sprawled backwards.

For a moment — a lifetime — Harry lay there, on top of Malfoy, shocked and breathless, all thoughts of berating Ginny fading rapidly. His arse was cradled in Malfoy's pelvis, his head was nestled in the curve of Malfoy's shoulder and neck, and all he could think was that it was unexpectedly comfortable.

"Get off me."

The near panic in Malfoy's voice and the sharp upwards thrust of his hips disrupted Harry's chain of thought and broke him out of his stupor. He rolled off Malfoy, putting himself on the opposite side from Ginny and the staff in its Magic Dampener. He raised his head, dropping his wand out of his mouth into his hand, and smiled. "Thanks, Malfoy. That was great."

"I think you broke me," Malfoy moaned, curling into a ball and wrapping his arms around himself.

"Oh, come on, he wasn't that good." Ginny stood over them, smirking _again_.

Harry gaped at her. Malfoy snarled something incoherent. And the two men in black suits with the Department of Mysteries sigil embroidered on their breast pockets, who'd wandered up while Harry was distracted, chorused, "Malfoy. Weasley."

Straightening up, Malfoy got to his feet in a single graceful movement. He and Ginny went over to join the Unspeakables.

"I'll just be over there." Harry waved a hesitant goodbye to them and took a step towards the Muggle reporters. "Doing my job, all right?"

But neither of them paid the least bit of attention to him, absorbed as they were in their discussion with the Unspeakables. Malfoy's face revealed nothing. His expression was closed up and serious. As if the humour — the _Malfoy_ — of the past few minutes had been a figment of Harry's imagination.

With a sigh, Harry tucked his wand into its holster and turned away. By the time he reached the reporters, he'd assumed the earnest and nerdy demeanour he usually used when spreading about Muggle-worthy excuses. He'd also concocted just the right story to explain why the waters of the Thames had parted and had come up with an idea that might just explain the Inferius, in case any of the Muggles had noticed it.

But he couldn't help looking back at Malfoy one last time, at the blond hair and cocky stance that seemed designed to catch his attention, before he signalled to a familiar reporter and began to do his job.

~*~

**5\. The Apple of His Eye**

"You'll go, Draco. We can't afford to snub the Weasleys any longer."

His mother had followed up those words with a meaningful glance at his father, and the way his father had pressed his lips together and rustled the _Daily Prophet_ sank every hope Draco had had that his father might take his side.

Which was why he was standing in front of the Burrow on a Sunday afternoon in December with an Umbrella Charm protecting him from the rain, trying to find the courage to open the gate and walk up to the front door. He stared at the lopsided house. That it remained standing and hadn't toppled over defied every natural law he'd ever read about, except those of magic.

"There aren't any wards. None that would keep you out after I add you to them at least."

Draco turned his head as Ron Weasley jumped down from a nearby tree and landed with a thud on the other side of the low fence. Weasley seemed heedless of the rain, with his damp clothes and wet hair.

Drawing his arrogance around him like a shield, Draco stared down his nose at Weasley. "I hardly think you'd invite me if I weren't welcome."

Weasley's eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared in an unmistakeable sign that had Draco fighting not to reach for his wand. Then Weasley deflated visibly. "Mum invited you, which makes you welcome in our house."

 _No matter what I think_. The words Weasley didn't say hung in the air between them, making Draco's hackles, and his desire to lash out, rise. He was still struggling with himself when Weasley spoke again.

"Just come in, yeah?" Weasley did something to the back of the gate, making it swing open. "We don't bite."

"Not much, anyway." The second, deeper voice came from Draco's left. He turned his head and saw one of the people he'd been dreading.

Bill Weasley had one shoulder resting against the trunk of a tree and his arms crossed over his chest. Unlike his brother, he was clearly using a charm to keep himself dry. His long red hair was pulled back from his face and caught in a ponytail, exposing the fang earring hanging from one ear and the scars on his face. The scars for which Draco was responsible.

Unable to find words, Draco gave the other Weasley a short, sharp nod of his head. _The other Weasley?_ he thought frantically. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't call them all Weasley.

"Go on, Ron," Bill Weasley said, walking towards Draco. "I'll bring him in."

The Plimpy-like look on Weasley's face might have been amusing, with his bulging eyes and opening and closing mouth, if Draco hadn't been working so hard not to ask him to stay, not to leave him alone with—

And there was that Weasley problem again.

As soon as Weasley left, his older brother said, "Hold out your hand."

Trying not to think about what this Weasley might want from him, Draco stuck out his hand. A larger, warmer hand engulfed it.

"You'll call me, Bill," he said. "You might as well give up on the last names. There are just too many of us."

"I can't—" Draco squared his shoulders and reminded himself that the Weasleys didn't run their lives by pureblood society rules. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask." Bill closed his eyes and concentrated for a minute. When his eyes opened, he drew Draco through the gate. "Welcome to the Burrow."

Once on the other side, Draco was a guest on Weasley property. Knowing the forms, knowing that he wouldn't get another chance, Draco held on to Bill's hand to keep his attention. Then, before he could lose his courage or say something sarcastic to cover his embarrassment, he said, "Please accept my deepest apologies. For all that you and your family suffered as a result of my actions."

Bill extricated his hand from Draco's. His jaw worked, and he reached up to massage the thickest scar under his left eye. It was still red after all these years, didn't look as if it was completely healed, and Draco was swamped with guilt and resentment yet again.

Then Bill smiled. The scars creased, and his happiness was incandescent. "Not the worst thing that's ever happened to me by a long shot. Got my mother to appreciate my wife, and the goblins to give me respect."

"But—"

"And you really don't want me to list the other benefits of not quite being a werewolf, trust me. Just know that Fleur looks forward to the full moon nights."

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Draco smirked. "Well, if I'd known it was going to be such a good thing for you..." He let his voice trail off suggestively.

Bill laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "You keep a tight hold on that attitude. You might just need it tonight."

They walked the rest of the way, accompanied by the rustling and dripping sounds of the rain, not speaking again until they were on the front doorstep. Then Bill turned to him and said, "One more thing before we go in. Harry's a Weasley in all but name."

Despite his confusion over why Bill thought he wouldn't already know that, a thrill went through Draco at the thought that Potter was probably inside the house. "That's hardly news."

"Perhaps not." Bill pushed open the door. "But I thought it worth mentioning."

Heat rushed over Draco when he stepped inside. A flick of his wand and a quick _Finite_ ended his Umbrella Charm. He pulled off his cloak and looked around for somewhere to put it, but Bill had disappeared. Lacking any better ideas and not wanting to insult his hosts, he tossed his cloak on top of one of the piles of cloaks and jackets hanging by the door and headed towards the sounds of conversation.

"Malfoy, you made it." A Weasley threw an arm around Draco's shoulders, breathed Firewhisky fumes into his face, and pushed him down into the middle seat of an already crowded sofa. Luckily Granger seemed to have expected it, and got out of the way before Draco fell into her lap.

"Oi, George, first names, remember, and let the man breathe before you start tossing him at people."

Before Draco could identify which Weasley had said that, George was yelling back and then they were all talking over each other. Even Granger and the woman on his other side, whom he vaguely remembered having been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at one point, got into a conversation around him after giving him a brief nod of acknowledgement. So he gave up, huddled into himself so he didn't encroach on either woman's space, dug his fingers into his thighs, and began silently running through the runic alphabets.

He'd reached Younger Futhark when a loud whistle broke through the din. As one, all of the heads turned to see Ginny standing in a doorway with her hands on her hips and Potter hovering behind her.

"Mum," Ginny began, and every redhead in the room cringed. "Mum said to keep it down and start getting the table set, or she'll pack up the food and take it to the Muggle soup kitchen in town."

To Draco's shock, everyone seemed to take that threat seriously and started getting up and moving. When he looked back at Ginny, she winked at him and beckoned him. "Come on. Your job's in the kitchen with us, not with the rabble out there."

The kitchen was the opposite of what Draco had expected, based on his few ventures into the Manor kitchen — his friends had certainly never suggested that he visit theirs. Despite the fact that it was small and cramped and crowded with people and things, it was warm, welcoming, and clearly designed for wizards rather than house-elves. Pans were stirring themselves on the cooker. Dishes were washing themselves in the sink. A yellow, eggy sauce was streaming from Mrs Weasley's wand into a large jug.

Mr Weasley waved at Draco from the far end of the table where he was using a Slicing Charm on an enormous roast. Potter gave him a quick nod from where he stood, his hands never pausing, flashing in gestures that mirrored the rise and fall of the salad ingredients in the huge bowl in front of him.

After returning the wave and the nod, Draco remained standing just inside the door. Ginny had abandoned him for a chair at the long table and a pile of apples that started spinning their peels off into a bowl shortly after she sat down. This was a room where everyone seemed to know their place and what was expected of them, except him. He bit down on the sarcastic remarks that rose to his tongue, words that would protect him and prevent anyone from knowing how much he hated feeling superfluous, and waited with as much patience as he could manage. If nothing else, his mother would kill him if he forgot his manners and ignored her express wishes that he not insult the Weasleys.

Still with her back to everyone in the room, Mrs. Weasley said, "Ginny, dear, can you see to the pudding for me?"

"Already on it, Mum." Ginny twirled her wand. "Although I could do with a few more apples for the filling."

Mrs Weasley ended the stream of sauce with a practiced flick of her wrist and turned around, giving Draco a huge smile.

"Hello, Draco, I'm so glad you were free for dinner tonight," she said, then without giving Draco a chance to respond, continued with, "Arthur, cut those slices a little thicker. Nobody wants to be able to see through their roast beef," followed immediately by a slightly less sharply ordered, "Harry, that salad's been tossed within an inch of its life. Why don't you give it a rest and take Draco out to pick up a few more apples? Ginny's almost out, and the ones left in the basket aren't worth serving to the gnomes."

Potter's shoulders visibly tensed, and the reluctance with which he allowed the vegetables to drop back into the bowl was tangible. But before Draco could tell him not to put himself out, that Draco would go to the shop for the apples — assuming Mrs Weasley told him which shop was open on a Sunday afternoon and how to get there — Potter released a huge sigh and stood up.

"C'mon, Malfoy. Sooner we get going, the sooner we can be back inside where it's warm." Potter faced Draco for the first time that afternoon and checked him out from head to foot. However, instead of the appreciative glance Draco always hoped for, Potter frowned at him. "You might want to borrow a pair of wellies. I wouldn't want you ruining those shoes."

"Wellies?" Draco all but squawked the word, trying to get it out before his confusion cost him all his company manners and he once again allowed Potter to provoke him into acting like an absolute arse. Something he had promised himself that he wouldn't do. Certainly not in the Weasley kitchen, where three pairs of Weasley eyes were watching him and Potter was already pushing his way out the back door.

Reminding himself that a good offence wasn't necessarily the best defence, rather than sneer at his hosts and hex everyone in sight — especially Potter — Draco called upon every ounce of his Malfoy training and sauntered casually across the kitchen. Once outside, he took a minute to cast a Warming Charm and an _Impervius_ from top to bottom.

"That'll have to do, I suppose," Potter observed from where he was sitting on a crumbling stone bench, pulling on a pair of filthy black rubber boots.

"I don't wear _wellies_ , Potter," Draco spat out.

Potter, git that he was, didn't have the decency to fight back. He merely grinned at Draco as he stood up and swept him a mockery of a bow. "After you."

Which, of course, required Draco to smirk at him and glide down the steps haughtily. "I think not. After all, how will you throw yourself headfirst into danger on my behalf if you're behind me?"

"Merlin, you're something."

There was an intonation of almost fond bemusement behind the hapless insult, so Draco decided to let it pass with a nod of acknowledgment and another smirk.

They'd reached the top of the hill, treading in slippery stuff that Draco hoped was mud all the way up, when he realised that the Burrow was more than far enough behind them for Apparation to be possible. The faint light provided by Potter's globe showed nothing but trees. There was no path beneath them and no town lights in front of them.

Keeping his tone as mild as he could manage, Draco asked, "I don't suppose this is a shortcut to town?"

"Town?" Potter conjured a large wicker basket. "Why would we go to town for apples when we've got our own orchard?"

"Orchard?" Draco unholstered his wand. "As in we're expected to _pick_ apples from these trees when every greengrocer in both the near and far vicinity has a nice selection all shiny and polished and waiting for people to buy them?"

"Yep."

"Potter!" Draco moved towards the bastard, firming his grip on his wand and sorting through his vast selection of curses for one that wouldn't cause too much permanent damage.

" _Malum Perciperus_."

Luckily, Draco ducked. Although he'd been expecting a flash of spellfire, not a rush of apples arcing over his head and into the basket.

"There," Potter said, when the basket was full and his spell had ended, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Instead of spluttering _Not so bad?_ , Draco picked an apple off the top, cast a gentle Cleansing Charm on it, and took a bite. It was sweet, cold, sharp, and juicy. "Delicious." When Potter didn't respond, he took another bite, using his tongue to capture the juice that threatened to dribble down his chin.

"Fresh picked apples are the best." Potter came close enough to take his own bite out of Draco's apple. "Much better than any of those shiny, polished fruit that linger for days in a shop."

"Are they?" Draco took a step back and then another and another, until he could feel the rough bark of a tree through his jumper, and Potter kept moving with him until he was only a few inches in front of Draco.

"They are."

Potter's hand was warm around Draco's as he lifted the apple to his mouth and took another bite. His lips grazed Draco's fingers, and the unexpected sensations went straight to Draco's cock.

"Delicious," Potter repeated, licking around the bite mark in the apple, his tongue sliding over Draco's fingers.

"Is it?"

Draco tugged the apple and their hands away from Potter's mouth and towards his own. Once again, Potter moved with Draco, leaning into him, pressing him against the tree.

Staring into Potter's eyes, wanting to remove the glasses that distorted the green irises and black lashes, Draco reacted without thought to the kiss. He parted his lips, tasted the apple juice on Potter's lips and in his mouth.

And then Potter was gone. The crack of his Disapparation was almost lost in the roll of thunder.

"Coward," Draco yelled.

A shiver went through him as he sucked his lips and considered what to do. Such bad form to leave as Potter had done. But how could he go back down there without Potter and explain why he was alone?

He'd almost persuaded himself that it was only reasonable to leave under the circumstances when another loud crack shocked him into dropping the apple, which landed with a thud on the damp ground.

"Harry's an idiot," said Ginny, who'd been smart enough to Apparate up to the orchard. She flicked her wand and levitated the basket of apples. "Come on. You don't want to be out here when it starts tanking down."

The surprise when Draco got back to the Burrow wasn't that Potter hadn't returned, but that Mrs Weasley welcomed him with open arms, a hot cup of tea, and thanks for bringing the apples. That no one held him responsible for Potter's abrupt and unexplained disappearance was almost anti-climactic.

~*~

**6\. An Eye for the Eye**

Molly had showed up at Harry's flat the day after he ran out on Sunday dinner. The worst part of her brief visit was that all she'd done was drop off the package of leftovers that he usually brought home every Sunday and given him a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder. No scolding. No expression of disappointment. Just food and understanding.

She'd even smiled at him as she stepped into his Floo, reminding him to come for dinner the following Sunday, and left him feeling like a complete arse.

As a result, he'd spent the next couple of weeks avoiding Malfoy, the Weasleys, and anyone else who might be related to them. Including Penny, whom he'd left in the lurch so many times he was starting to worry about payback.

Still, he was beginning to enjoy his job again. He'd covered up several incidents of accidental underage magic, consulted on the plans for the upcoming Quidditch Cup, given a keynote speech at the International Gullible Muggles Conference, and caught up on his paperwork.

He'd known it was too good to last, but that hadn't stopped him from hoping. Until Penny flung his office door open and tossed a folder at him, knocking down the tower he was building from Exploding Snap cards and showering him and his desk with ash.

Half-blinded from the explosions, he blinked at her.

"London Eye," she said in the kind of perky tone that set the blood to freezing in his veins. The door was almost closed again, when she poked her head around it. "No excuses this time, and I'd hurry if I were you. Peasegood's declared this one _Non Obliviatus_."

"They can't Obliviate the Muggles?" Harry wondered aloud. He considered a series of increasingly awful scenarios as he stuffed his wand into its holster, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the nearest Apparation point. _Non Obliviatus_ had only been used three times in the twentieth century that he knew of, and one of those were the infamous crop circle incidents.

He was still trying to work out what might have happened when he arrived at the Jubilee Gardens Apparation point — a dilapidated public toilet protected by permanent Muggle-Repelling Charms, an Out of Order sign, and a horrific stench. Holding his nose and trying not to breathe, Harry hurried out of the building and into the large crowd of Muggles who were streaming towards the Eye and chattering loudly about Peter Jackson and movies.

At first, he didn't notice that the London Eye wasn't moving, or that the LED lights decorating the Ferris wheel were dark. All he could see was the giant, lidless flaming eye that glared at the world from the centre of the wheel. Red, orange and gold flames flared from the black slit pupil and lit up the night. Serpentine wisps of grey-green smoke writhed around the struts and capsules.

"Oh my god, Emmy, you won't believe it. It's the Eye of Sauron. Right on the London Eye," a woman squealed into her phone and Harry's ear. "I'm taking a picture and posting it right now. You've just got to log in and take a look. It's fucking brilliant."

"Merlin's saggy left tit," Harry muttered under his breath. "I'm going to _Crucio_ the idiots if Malfoy hasn't already."

Surreptitiously casting a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself, he sidled up beside the squealer and murmured, "Jackson's a genius. Best advert ever."

As soon as she started gibbering at Emmy and passing that rumour along, he slipped between a pair of camera-wielding Japanese tourists and around a group of people who were wearing costumes and bouncing in place. He made occasional pauses to mutter about Jackson and advertising and _The Hobbit_ , and by the time he'd reached the Wizarding entrance to the Eye, other people were gossiping about his rumour as if it were fact.

Ginny was waiting for him. She grabbed his arm and dragged him up to the observation area.

After greeting Peasegood and the others who were standing around gawking, and adamantly not thinking about why he couldn't see Malfoy sneering at the world and most definitely not looking for him, Harry followed Ginny over to a corner. When she didn't explain immediately, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave her his best considering look — the one without the raised eyebrow, because he'd never quite managed to get one to go up without the other.

Eventually, she said, " _Finite_ makes it shoot illusionary balls of fire into the air, and you definitely don't want to try Banishing it." She shuddered and plucked at a blackened hole near the hem of her oversized jumper.

Harry put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into an awkward hug. She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed briefly before backing away. He glanced back at the Eye and said, "I assume it won't last forever."

"Until the first rays of the sun strike it, according to the wizards who put it there." She made a face. "Bloody idiots went to a marathon rerun of all three _Lord of the Rings_ movies at a nearby cinema. They spent hours and hours sitting on their arses, staring at the screen, and sipping Daydream Elixir. Claimed it made the experience more real or something."

"More something definitely," Harry muttered.

"Anyway, they got into an argument on their way to the Apparation point over whether Voldemort was scarier than Sauron. One of them decided to prove his point by conjuring the eye at the same time the other tried to cast _Morsmordre_."

Harry groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. He was sure that just thinking about it was giving him a headache. "At least the excuse is easy."

"It is?"

"Yeah. I've already got the crowd chattering about Peter Jackson, the Muggle director, and his plans to film _The Hobbit_ , and they all believe this is a giant publicity stunt." Harry grinned. "I love it when the Muggles do my work for me."

Peasegood interrupted, "Good. Good. Glad to know you've got it under control. One for the books this is. It's not every day that an Obliviator gets to call _Non Obliviatus_." He rubbed his hands together. "A textbook example, if I do say so myself."

Before Peasegood could start patting himself on the back, or Ginny could say any of the things that were clearly on her mind, Harry said, "I'll just be going then."

"Oh no you won't." Ginny clutched his wrist and yanked him towards her and said in her sweetest, most unbelievable tone, "If you'll excuse us, Mr Peasegood. Harry and I have some work to do."

"Of course." Peasegood gave her a pleased smile. "I'll just be on my way. I can't wait to sit down and write up the report on this one."

As soon as Peasegood was out of hearing range, Harry muttered, "That man is mental." Then he threw up a Silencing Spell to give them some privacy and avoid the entire room hearing him get a dressing down from the woman that the papers still insisted on referring to as his ex-girlfriend.

"And thankfully he's gone. You can go get Malfoy down now."

"No."

"Harry!"

"No. My job is done. I'm heading back to the Ministry now."

"He's at the top of the wheel."

"So?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Ginny growled, "Harry James Potter," and his stomach dropped somewhere around his toes.

"It's none of your business," he said.

"He's my partner. That makes it my business."

Trying to squash his guilt back down, Harry stared at the toes of his boots. He had no clue what to say to her.

"You fucked up, Harry." Her voice gentled, and she brushed a hand over his cheek. "You're really good at that, especially with someone who starts to get serious with you."

"We aren't—"

"Yeah, you are. You always have been when it comes to Draco." She smiled at him. "Only this time you need to fix it, because you want him as much as he wants you."

"I don't—"

"You do, and you did. Even when we were dating at Hogwarts, you could barely stop chasing him long enough to spend time with me."

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Is it even worth protesting or are you going to cut me off again?"

"I'll keep interrupting until you stop reacting and start thinking." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Or should I say feeling."

A flush ran through Harry, heating his cheeks. He tugged at his hair. "I'm not that—"

"Yes, you are, and you know it."

"You're a bitch," he said, kissing her cheek and pulling her into a hug. "You know that, yeah?"

"It's why you love me so much." She rested her head on his shoulder and turned him around until they were looking out the window. "Go get him down, please. And then listen to your heart and to what he has to say before reacting. Promise me that much."

Harry stared at the giant wheel, not completely sure what he was seeing through the bright flames and smoke. Could Malfoy really be up there? It had to be sturdy enough, but how safe could it be even with the wheels and the capsules stopped? "Do I even want to know why he's up there?"

She shrugged. "The spells were cast a couple of hours after closing time, so we already knew there were no Muggles on board. But he insisted on checking."

"And that's it?"

"What else could there be?" She tilted her head, and her mouth quirked up into the same innocent smile she'd used on her mother when insisting that she and Harry hadn't been _up to no good_ , as Molly had put it, in Arthur's shed.

"If that's all there is, why do you need me to go up there? You're his partner. I'm just the annoying git who—"

"Shut up and go get him. If you don't fix this, I'll tell Mum what you did to Draco in the orchard and why you left."

"You don't know." Despite being convinced that Malfoy wouldn't have said a word to anyone — except possibly to Parkinson — Harry found himself wondering whether Ginny could have seen anything from inside the Burrow.

"I can make up a good story, though, and Mum won't know the difference, will she?"

Before he could respond, she disabled his Silencing Spell and turned to the others. "Come on, everyone. Time to go back to the Ministry. I think we can leave this one to the Muggle police. They seem to have it well under control."

A couple of people grumbled, but they all left. Ginny stepped away and pulled out her wand. "And Harry, for Merlin's sake, don't make him act even crazier to get your attention. I'm not sure London can handle it."

Turning away as she Disapparated, Harry examined the top of the London Eye. Going up there to face Malfoy would cost him the life he'd created in the years since defeating Voldemort. His peaceful, carefully crafted life.

"Boring, more like," he told himself. "A safe rut filled with work and Sunday dinners at Molly and Arthur's and the monthly DA reunion."

A shadow moved on top of the wheel, cast into relief by the lights of the nearby capsule.

"Not too interested in safe, are you, Malfoy?"

The Eye of Sauron blinked flame, sending coils of smoke winding around the shadow. Harry found himself brushing his hand over the window, trying to wipe it away, so he didn't lose sight of Malfoy.

"I didn't used to care much for safe either," Harry mumbled. Then, before he could change his mind, he gave the Ferris wheel a quick glance to confirm the positioning of the capsules and struts, pulled out his wand, and Apparated.

~*~

The crack of Apparation surprised Draco, making him jump and forcing him to grab at the strut beneath him. He braced his feet again, shoved his hair out of his eyes, and glared at the intruder. It just had to be Potter the inquisitive git, of course. Probably couldn't resist coming to gloat.

"Bugger off," Draco ordered him.

"No," said Potter in his usual contrary fashion.

Draco stretched, raising his arms over his head. The capsule above him was too far away to even think about touching, though. Maybe he should Apparate down to the control centre, Imperius one of the Muggles into starting up the Ferris wheel, and then Apparate back to the top. Playing dodgems with the capsules and a Diversion Charm would be a brilliant way to pass an hour or two, if he could work out if which, if any, of the struts were stationary.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter moving closer, walking along a steel beam as if it were solid ground. It had to be a spell, he thought, considering Potter's lack of balance when it came to Floos and Portkeys. The closer Potter got, the more Draco felt him, sensed the weight of his magic, was utterly incapable of _not_ knowing that Potter was there.

As oblivious to what he was doing to Draco as ever, Potter grabbed onto the capsule with one hand and took up a position nearby. He kept his eyes looking forward, which made it difficult for Draco to see his face, and commented, "Nice view."

Draco did his best to ignore him.

Not that Potter gave a damn. He just kept talking. "Ginny says that the Eye of VoldeSauron will dissipate by sunrise. Doesn't seem to make much sense staying up here until then."

 _VoldeSauron_? Draco made a derisive sound and attempted to focus his attention on a boat navigating up the dark ribbon of the Thames.

"It's pretty inventive, actually," Potter continued. "I have a feeling that Mysteries will want a chat with them before you Aurors officially charge them with breaching the Statute and whatever else you can come up with. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if they end up disappearing into Level Nine never to be heard from again."

 _Couldn't happen to a nicer pair of twats,_ Draco didn't say.

A stream of vaporous snakes gusted upwards, surrounding and temporarily blinding them both before dispersing. With a visible shiver, Potter let go of the capsule and buttoned his coat up.

Draco conjured a miniature white peacock feather, held it out over the edge, and released it. The feather wafted away, swirling and dipping and playing in the currents, as graceful in the air as Potter. Potter, though, wouldn't float. He'd soar and dive and spin, flying hard and fast, pulling up at the last possible second purely to spite Draco. If Potter had a broomstick, which he didn't.

"Leaving the Malfoy mark?" asked Potter, interrupting Draco's fantasy.

 _I'd use something a bit more permanent than a feather, peacock or not_ , Draco thought, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the city spread out below them.

The Ferris wheel vibrated in warning, and Draco took a tighter grip on the magic lash he'd secured to the closest strut as the wind buffeted the capsule above him and gusted beneath it. Potter, who wasn't holding on to anything, teetered on his precarious perch. A flash of movement caught Draco's eye. He turned his head just as the worn sole of Potter's trainers skidded on the smooth painted metal and Potter flung out his hand, reaching for something, anything.

Bracing himself as best he could and hoping his charms held, Draco cast a quick spell that ensured Potter slipped towards him rather than over the edge. Potter sprawled over Draco's legs, and Draco cursed himself silently for clutching at him, almost unseating himself in his urgent need to get Potter up and out of danger.

"Clumsy idiot."

Potter looped his arms around Draco's neck and assumed the expression that made him look gormless. "My saviour," he breathed.

Draco went to push at him, only to tighten his grip when he felt Potter shift downwards. "Get your feet underneath yourself. Are you trying to kill both of us?"

When Potter was settled, Draco recast his Sticking Charm to better secure them both. "What, in Salazar's name, were you thinking?" he snarled. "Or were you even thinking at all?"

The way Potter pursed his lips made Draco want to bite them, lick them, nibble on them. "I'm not much for thinking, to be honest," Potter finally said. "More of a doer, really."

"Doer?" Draco sputtered. Potter's sheer nerve sent Draco's temper boiling over the cauldron lip. "A fucking doer? A nancy prat is more like it these days. When was the last time you _did_ something, Potter? Chased a Snitch like winning mattered, or stood up to one of the Ministry wankers who think that a well-filled out form is more important than actually doing your job?"

To Draco's utter infuriation, Potter got that stupid look on his face and blinked at him. _Blinked_! No anger, no self-righteous justifications, just a blink and a vacuous expression.

Growling in outrage, Draco slashed his wand and spit out a curse he'd learned at his father's knee. His magic ripped Potter away and slammed him against the capsule's mount, lashing Potter in place by the wrists and ankles. Spread-eagled over the wide spaces between the steel bars, Potter struggled and yelled, "What the hell is your problem, Malfoy?"

"My problem?" Draco cancelled the charms that held him in place, flipped himself up and over in a single fluid movement, and jumped over to where he'd stuck Potter. "My problem is—" he raised a Wind-Repelling Shield to keep them safe, rested against a thick, round support strut, and jabbed the tip of his wand into Potter's side "— _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You're so busy trying to be anyone but yourself and to convince yourself that you're happy doing bugger all every day and night that you're scaring me more than my batshit insane Aunt Bella ever did. And that's something I never thought I'd say, because I'd rather face the Dark Lord on one of his Crucio-happy binges than that harpy on one of her good days."

"I'm not—"

"Don't even think it." Draco cut Potter off before he could spew out another of his naff excuses. "What the fuck happened to you, Potter? What happened to the boy who challenged the Dark Lord more times than anyone even remotely sane would consider? The boy who stood up to Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape and my fucking father and didn't so much as blink? Not once. The boy who flew towards Fiendfyre, not just because he didn't want to see me die, but because he couldn't imagine not doing it?"

Potter started breathing in huge rasping gulps. His bottom lip cracked and split under the pressure of his teeth, and he was trembling so much that Draco's spells seemed to be the only thing holding him up.

When he didn't respond, Draco poked him even harder and spat, "Tell me!"

A harsh burst of laughter scraped its way out of Potter's throat. "He broke. Into a million tiny pieces, all of them too small for _Reparo_ to put him back together."

"Broke? That's it? All this because you _broke_?" Draco stomped one booted foot onto the metal beneath it. "Well, do I have news for you. We all broke. Every last fucking one of us broke in that war. And those of who weren't shattered into so many jigsaw puzzle pieces that Mungo's is still trying to put them back together are out here, putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to keep the world a better place. Trying to hold on to the better world you helped to create."

Potter, the bastard, turned his head and closed his eyes. Which was not fucking on, as far as Draco was concerned. He seized Potter's arm and dug his thumb into the inside of Potter's elbow until he opened his eyes and paid attention.

"And the other night? What was that? Because the Harry bloody Potter I know and love doesn't back down, and he doesn't run away from a fight." Draco leaned as far over towards Potter as he could safely manage. "You don't like me kissing you, you don't run away. You damn well punch me. Or hex me. Or fuck me."

Potter closed his eyes again.

Throwing up his wand arm, his anger dissipating with the uncontrolled magic that spilled from the tip of his wand, Draco sighed. "What am I supposed to do with you? You better tell me because I don't have a clue. Do I let you go and then get a restraining order against you, so you stop teasing and tempting me? Or do I take you back to the Manor and let you blast away at the debris that was the Dark Lord's suite along with Mother? Because I'm sure she'd love to have a duel of destruction."

"Not much for destruction any more, or hexing either." Potter's voice was barely above a whisper. "I'd prefer fucking, I think. Or maybe just another kiss."

At first Draco thought he'd misunderstood. He stared at Potter, examining him, but still wasn't sure.

Then Potter swept his tongue across his own lips, lingering on the split and licking up the remnants of blood, and Draco didn't care any longer. He checked out the distance, calculated the angles and the struts, and then began swearing. Tying Potter to the capsule mount had been a brilliant idea, but he couldn't kiss Potter without killing either or both of them.

Releasing his fear in a wordless yell, Draco launched himself into the air and landed on top of Potter. He could feel Potter tense his muscles, attempting to stop them from falling through the wide spaces between the struts.

"Hold tight." Draco murmured and slipped an arm around Potter's waist. He captured Potter's lips with his own, intending to breathe spells into Potter's mouth, but he wasn't given a chance.

"My turn," Potter whispered. His bonds released with a series of loud clicks. One of Potter's arms came around him and, in the moment they began to fall, Potter spiralled them upwards. Red and yellow spellfire arced from Potter's wand, and a swirl of smoky snakes rose up, obscuring the world around them.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked. His voice sounded breathless, even to him, and he was sure Potter could feel the pounding of his heart.

But Potter didn't answer. He stopped in mid-air, kissed Draco as if his life depended upon it, spun them around enough times that Draco wasn't sure which direction was which, and then dropped like a Seeker chasing a Snitch.

~*~

They were caught and gently bounced by the hammock made from a webbing of magical threads that Harry's spell had strung between two capsules. The expression on Malfoy's face was glorious. He looked gobsmacked, fierce, aroused, and Harry had to kiss him. As Malfoy's mouth opened to the gentle brush of Harry's lips, the kiss became sloppy, open mouthed, needy.

They rolled and writhed, bucking against each other, grinding their hips together, clutching at each other. Again and again, they came close to the edge of the webbing only to be tossed back into the middle as the Protection Charms kicked in, until Harry's jeans were damp and chafing his cock.

Biting at Malfoy's jaw for emphasis, Harry told him to, "Stop."

"No." Malfoy surged up, nearly emasculating Harry with his knee as he attempted to flip them over.

"Yes or I'll bind you there." With Malfoy beneath him for the moment, Harry sprawled out, using his arms and legs to hold Malfoy in place. After a moment of concentration, the threads nearest Malfoy's ankles and wrists grew extensions that waved in the air.

Instead of fighting him, Malfoy stilled. His pupils dilated until only a thin ring of grey remained, and a tremor wracked his body. "Don't."

The word was plea, request, and order in the way only Malfoy could manage.

Harry studied him for a moment before nodding his agreement and directing the extensions back into the rest of the webbing. Shifting so that he was kneeling between Malfoy's legs, he traced a line down the front of Malfoy's jumper and trousers. As his wand moved downwards, the clothes faded away.

"Like what you see?" Malfoy's gaze challenged him, dared him to comment on the Dark Mark that stained his forearm and the still-red scars that cut across his chest.

"Oh yes." Harry choked on the other words that crowded behind those two — the apology that Malfoy didn't want and the not-quite-lie that the Mark didn't matter to him. Rather than speak them aloud, he hummed, and once he had the tune that Luna had taught him, he leaned over and did the only thing he could. He followed the line of the scars with his mouth, tongue, and wand, over and over, up and down, pushing his magic under the skin, searching out the curse that his fear had cast into Malfoy, and ending it.

"You." Harry looked up from the pink and fading scars and asked, "Why is it always you?"

Something in the way Malfoy looked at him made Harry's heart ache in empathy and, when Malfoy's hand rose and he cupped Harry's face, the gentleness took his breath away. It sent the world spinning off its axis and Harry flying untethered. But then Malfoy gave Harry's face a light slap that brought the world and Harry back down with a jolt.

Malfoy arched his right eyebrow and smirked. "Because I'm brilliant."

Relief crashed through Harry, making him grin at Malfoy foolishly. "Of course, you are."

"You're not, though."

"Really?"

"Really." Malfoy licked his lips. "You're confusing, inconsistent, suffer from intermittent bouts of heroism, and are wearing far too many clothes to be considered brilliant."

"Gone." And with a grandiose wave of his wand, Harry sent his clothes off to join Malfoy's.

"Better."

Harry secured his wand into a sheath woven from the webbing and lay down, losing himself in Malfoy's soft skin and the crinkly silk of his body hair, in stroking and caressing and _feeling_ Malfoy's lips, ears, neck, chest. He moved down and down, lavishing attention on everything, fascinated by the way the muscles beneath Malfoy's skin trembled and fluttered in response, by the way Malfoy gasped and arched and his graceful movements became jerky and almost uncoordinated.

"I want you," Harry said. Desire flared through him as he said it out loud for the first time. "More than is safe, more than is good, more than I've ever wanted anyone in my entire life."

"Please tell me that's not supposed to be news."

Harry stuck his tongue out. "Want to be a wanker?"

"Want permanently blue balls?"

"Threats." Harry rolled his hips. "I like it."

"What happened to the Potter who wanted to play it safe?"

"You happened." Harry tapped Malfoy's chin. "You don't know when to stop, and I don't know how not to let you get to me."

Malfoy gave him an exultant smile, dipped his head, and sucked in Harry's fingers. Laving, teasing, nibbling them.

Arousal sparking along his nerves, Harry scrabbled for his wand. To hell with gentle, with slow and loving. "Now," he said, feeling the word rumble inside his chest.

"Now," Malfoy agreed, drawing his legs up towards his chest and holding them apart.

"Lube," Harry reminded himself. "Fingers."

"No. Now." Releasing one of his legs, Malfoy snatched Harry's wand. He fumbled awkwardly and snarled incoherently at the wood until it bent to his will and allowed him to cast the charm. Then, with another spell that Harry had only heard from Aurors, he flipped the wand into the air and left it hanging there.

The cool slither of the lube around his cock had left Harry gasping and his hips jerking with need. He focussed on not coming, on not—

"Fuck me, Harry."

The sound of his name coming from Malf... from Draco's lips was like the hook of a Portkey behind Harry's navel, yanking him cock-first towards Draco, driving him balls-deep, moving so fast that he barely remembered to use his hand to line himself up.

Panting, his back arched, Harry remained still, not wanting to lose the feeling, the rightness of being inside Draco.

"Move your lazy Gryffindor arse." Draco shimmied his hips, impaling himself, sending the head of Harry's cock skidding over his prostate.

"Selfish Slytherin bastard," Harry muttered. He pushed deeper. He twisted and ground into Draco, bending him almost in two as he leaned forward to suck on Draco's throat.

"Fu..." Draco's arms flailed, and he clawed at Harry's back. His legs fell apart, opening him up wider and wider, drawing Harry in.

And Harry rocked. Barely pulling out of him. His back and hips undulated as he thrust. An inch out and back in again. And Draco humped and shimmied, fucking himself on Harry, using his heels and his hands to hold Harry in place.

Desire gathered, tightened, pulsed through Harry and forced him to start moving. He pushed back against Draco's hold, pulled out and plunged back in. Each thrust drove him, faster, harder, wilder, matching the rhythm of the waves building up inside him.

"Now, now, now," Draco demanded, sliding a hand between their sweat-slick bodies. His knuckles dug into Harry's stomach with every squeeze, tug, and pull — a mad counterpoint to the pressure building up inside Harry.

And Harry came with Draco's arse clenching around him, feeling as if he was pumping his soul into Draco along with his release.

~*~

Draco lay there, suspended in mid-air above the London Eye, with Harry Potter curled around him, tracing figures over and over his skin. His legs ached, his arse was sore, and he could still feel the trembling deep inside.

He sighed and rolled over so he was on top of Harry. "You'll find our clothes," he said and dropped a kiss at the corner Harry's smiling mouth. "You'll clean us up and Banish all of this." He gestured at the smoke and the makeshift hammock. "And then you're going to take me somewhere civilised for breakfast."

"And after that?" There was worry in Harry's eyes. Frown lines creased his forehead and the skin around his eyes.

"After that?" Draco smoothed his thumb across Potter's eyebrows and tried not to let his triumph show. "Oh, after that, I'll take you home and fuck you until you're begging me to let you come."

Harry bit the corner of his lip, denting the cracked skin and looking ridiculously insecure for someone whose semen was oozing out of Draco's arse. So Draco kissed him again, reassuring him with his tongue and his teeth and his lips.

Then, he put his mouth to Harry's ear and murmured, "After that, we'll live."

~fin~


End file.
